


Fifteen

by fuzipenguin



Series: Give and Take [6]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bukkake, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, Other, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 12:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3937342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz and Optimus' first session together</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fifteen

     The sound of a hesitant knock froze Jazz mid step, and he stared at the innocuous seeming door for a long moment. Then he shook his head in exasperation and ambled to the room’s exit, remotely turning the volume of his music down.

     As he slid the door partway open, Jazz firmly shunted his apprehensive thoughts to the back of his processor and smiled brightly up at Optimus.

     “Evenin’, Opt. Come in!” Pushing the door wider, he gestured his lover inside.

     “Hello, Jazz,” Optimus said as he brushed past. He moved to the center of the room and then turned around to face Jazz as he shut the door. “I brought snacks.”

     Optimus held out a small tray which Jazz hadn’t noticed until now. Probably because he had been too busy staring at the soft gleam of Optimus’ plating; his colors practically glowed under the dimmed lighting. And was that a faint whiff of wax Jazz had smelled as Optimus had moved past him?

     “Twins got to you too, I see,” Jazz said wryly, holding out his own freshly detailed arm and turning it back and forth to catch the light. As he did, he zeroed in on the plate of goodies in Optimus’ hand; the treats looked suspiciously like the ones Jazz had sampled the last time he had visited Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.

     Optimus’ battlemask slid aside, revealing a small smile. “So they did; it was practically an ambush. And Sunstreaker would not take no for an answer. I must admit to being surprised with how much they have assisted us.”

     “Wasn’t what I was expecting either,” Jazz said as he took the tray from Optimus and sat it down on his entertainment table. “Especially not from Sunshine.”

     “We will have to repay them somehow,” Optimus murmured as Jazz stepped in close and ran admiring hands across Optimus’ smooth chestplates.

     “Yup,” Jazz agreed, leaning forward and taking an appreciative sniff. The wax Sideswipe had applied to Jazz smelled a little like apples, while the one adorning Optimus’ plating was citrusy. Jazz wondered if the expensive waxes tasted as good as they smelled. Sideswipe had said, winking one optic, that the wax was edible, although Jazz hadn’t believed him at the time. Impulsively, Jazz bent his head and extended his glossa; it tingled as he sampled the sweetly tart substance decorating Optimus’ plating. The big mech shivered beneath Jazz’s hands.

     “Starting already?” Optimus rumbled.

     Jazz lifted his head, his glossa swiping across his lower lip. Hmmm… tasty! He peered up coyly at Optimus. “How do we get going? Do we need a starting bell?”

     Optimus considered the question for a moment and then shrugged. “I suppose if you have no last questions or concerns, I’ll just say ‘begin’?”

     A shiver of anticipation shot up Jazz’s backstrut. He knew this session was basically just a practice run, but that didn’t lessen Jazz’s excitement. “Nope. No questions. I’m all yours, Opt.”

     Optimus smiled, lifting a hand to gently stroke Jazz’s cheek. If there was a slight tremble to the fingers that touched him, well, Jazz certainly wasn’t going to say anything about it. Especially not with his own knees feeling weak. “Very well. Then we will begin. As previously agreed, your safe word is Sacramento.”

     Optimus took a step back with one final caress to Jazz’s face. Then he turned on his heel and strode to Jazz’s entertainment section of the room. The large mech genteelly sat on Jazz’s couch. At first he crossed his arms over his chest; then he immediately placed them at his sides. A moment later, his hands landed on his knees, and he looked up at Jazz, mouth opening to speak. A startled look passed across his faceplates and his mouth closed again with an audible snap of denta.

     A long moment of silence passed. Jazz fidgeted in place, a little concerned. Had he done something wrong before they had even began?

     “Jazz… I would like you to… to…” Optimus looked around the room, gaze a little wild. “…bring me that plate of treats!” he exclaimed, pointing.

     Jazz leapt to obey, another thrill shooting through him and interface equipment onlining with a near painful surge. They were really doing this!

     Jazz scurried over to stand in front of Optimus and held the plate out to him. Optimus glanced at it in confusion, before gesturing to the couch next to him, his expression clearing. “Sit.”

     “Yes, sir,” Jazz said, and plopped down next to his lover with far less grace than he normally would. He was too focused on Optimus’ face, not wanting to miss a command or flicker of his expression. Jazz held the plate up again, offering the contents.

     “No, you have one,” Optimus said with a small wave of his fingers. “Tell me what they taste like.”

     Jazz carefully placed the tray in his lap and lifted one of the treats to consider it. This batch had a faint blue tinge to the cubes. He nibbled on the edge of one of the goodies, optics spiraling wide in surprise at the sharp flavor.

     “Mmmm. They’re good. Tangy, almost spicy, but not quite,” Jazz said, popping the rest of the treat into his mouth and savoring the treat. Sideswipe truly had a gift.

     “Sideswipe said he added cobalt salts to the mixture,” Optimus commented, optics roving over Jazz’s face as he chewed. “When you are done, give me one.”

     Jazz hurriedly swallowed and picked up another gel. He hesitantly raised it and when Optimus bent his head, lower jaw dropping slightly, Jazz completed the reach and placed it on Optimus’ glossa with more surety. Optimus closed his mouth and looked thoughtful as he chewed; Jazz was mesmerized by the play of cables and tension wires behind the protective plating of Optimus’ throat.

     “They are quite good,” Optimus announced after he swallowed. “I prefer a silver and cadmium mix, but these are delicious as well. You may have another.”

     Jazz picked up a treat and absently popped it into his mouth, still entranced at the sight of his lover licking his lips. Optimus caught him looking and the corner of his mouth lifted in the smallest of smirks. He reached out and delicately picked up several of the treats. They were absurdly small in Optimus’ large hand, but he handled them as if they were more fragile than a newly hatched sparkling. Which was why when one suddenly fell into his lap, Jazz knew Optimus had an ulterior motive.

     “I dropped one,” Optimus said mournfully, peering down at the juncture of his legs. “Little thing just disappeared on me.”

     Kinda like Optimus’ hands as they dove between his thighs, digging beneath his aft. Jazz watched avidly, poised to move at any sign of instruction.

     “Oh. Oh dear!” Optimus exclaimed. “I’m afraid I’ve made a mess!” He held up his hands and soft energon clumps were smeared over several of Optimus’ fingers. Jazz’s gaze darted back down to Optimus’ lap to see even more energon streaked across his inner thighs and interface plating.

     “Jazz, clean me up,” Optimus commanded with a sparkle in his optics as he shoved his hands towards Jazz.

     It was like something out of a bad pornovid, but Jazz could care less. He immediately wanted to dive across the space between then and stuff as many of Optimus’ fingers into Jazz’s mouth as would fit. Instead, he merely nodded and whipped a cloth out of subspace, enfolding one of Optimus’ hands within the soft material.

     “Of course, sir. I would be happy to,” Jazz said demurely as he began brusquely rubbing at Optimus’ fingers. His lover hadn’t said _how_ to go about the cleaning, after all.

     Optimus watched him for a moment, looking a little put out. Then he withdrew his hand from Jazz’s grasp.

     “That’s not working,” Optimus said, sounding exasperated. Jazz nearly giggled and quickly hid his grin behind a pout.

     “No, sir?”

     “No. It’s just working the energon further into the joints. You may need something wet. Hmm… what could… I know! Use your glossa,” Optimus instructed, looking quite pleased with himself.

     A bad porno, Jazz swore it. Nevertheless, Jazz brought one of Optimus’ hands up and began licking at the smears of energon. It was surprisingly hard work as the gel was sticky and really _had_ gotten into the joints. But Jazz persevered, finding himself dropping down into a bubble of calm as he focused completely on removing every trace of the substance. He was so into the task that when a soft moan sounded from above his head, Jazz looked up in surprise, the tip of Optimus’ index finger still between Jazz’s lipplates.

     Optimus stared down at him, mouth slightly open. “You… you’re doing very well,” Optimus praised after pausing to reboot his vocalizer. “Continue.”

     “Thank you, sir,” Jazz said, the words slurred around his mouthful. Optimus’ words were just part of the scene, but they still sent a surge of joy through him. Jazz bent his head again and attacked Optimus’ hand with renewed vigor.

     In short order, he had completely cleaned the first hand. When he released it, the other was already held in mid-air, waiting. Jazz started by sucking Optimus’ thumb into his mouth, intake working as his tongue laved around the drying clumps of energon. It was starting to harden now, making his job more difficult, but he continued on, methodically removing even the tiniest smear. Halfway through, Jazz let his optics dim and then fall offline completely, lulled by the repetitive lash of his glossa and suction of his lips.

     An indeterminate amount of time passed, Jazz floating in a haze until one of his audial horns were tweaked. “Jazz? Jazz!”

     “Mmm?” he replied, lifting his mouth away from the intricate components of Optimus’ inner wrist. He wondered when Optimus had turned the lights off and then realized his own optics were still offline. He rebooted them to see Optimus staring at him in concern.

     “Are you all right?” Optimus inquired, twisting his hand out of Jazz’s grip. Jazz made a soft sound of protest until the hand rotated and cupped Jazz’s jaw. Then he leaned into the support, engine making a soft, pleased purr.

     “’m fine. Did I do something wrong?” he asked, frowning at the thought.

     “You’ve cleaned me completely,” Optimus replied, thumb stroking beneath Jazz’s lower lipplate. “You did a very good job.”

     Jazz purred louder until his optics landed on Optimus’ lap. “Not completely.”

     He reluctantly lifted himself away from Optimus’ supporting hand and twisted off the couch to land on his knees, smoothly fitting himself between Optimus’ legs.

     “You’re quite the mess here, sir,” Jazz commented, hands coming up to brush along Optimus’ inner thighs. Without waiting for a response, he bent his head and began licking at the closest transformation seam.

     “That I am. Quite clumsy,” Optimus replied huskily, a cooling fan clicking on quietly. “Be sure to get every drop.”

     Jazz hummed an assent, settling onto his heels and getting comfortable. After a few minutes, Jazz once again closed his optic shutters to savor the taste of the energon and fresh wax mingling on his glossa, the wide expanse of Optimus’ smooth thigh plating flexing beneath Jazz’s fingers.

     “Good, Jazz. Very good,” Optimus murmured, a hand landing on the top of Jazz’s helm and stroking between the audial horns. Jazz moaned open-mouthed against the nearest bit of amour, hips swiveling as lust banded tight around them.

     It wasn’t if he had never been in this position before, touching and licking the areas that he was now. But this time… Optimus had given him a task, a simple if time-consuming chore that suddenly was more important than anything else his lover had ever asked him to do. At first it had seemed silly, but then Optimus had complimented him and all Jazz wanted now was to hear more of that praise, to feel Optimus’ encouraging touch.

     A tremble ran through Optimus’ legs as Jazz worked his way closer to the interface panel radiating heat against the side of Jazz’s face. He looked up through slitted optic shutters to see Optimus staring back at him, optics darkened and utterly focused on Jazz’s motions. Another cooling fan whirled to life as Jazz’s glossa swept across the center of Optimus’ spike cover.

     “There might be some… uh… beneath the panel,” Optimus said, his vocalizer spitting static. The cover slid aside, onlined spike practically springing from its housing. The hand on the top of Jazz’s helm slid to the back of his head, exerting a gentle pressure forwards. Jazz playfully rubbed his nasal ridge along the underside of the spike, glossa peeking out from between his lips to give the heated surface tiny little kitten licks. There was no wax here, only the heady tang of ozone and pre-transfluid. And energon.

     Jazz drew back slightly to spy a smear from one of the treats by the base of Optimus’ spike. One hand rose to encircle the twitching length and draw it off to the side so he could more easily reach the treat’s remnants. How Optimus had managed to get traces of the goodies down here, Jazz would never know.

     Once he had removed every trace of energon on Optimus’ body, he looked up at his lover for further instruction. Optimus had leaned back to get a better view, supporting his weight with his other hand. His ventilations were rapid, optics practically burning with charge.

     “Keep going,” Optimus instructed in a whisper. “You see what you’ve done? You had to go and… excite my… my spike. Finish what you started.”

     The hand on the back of his helm pressed him forward again, more forcefully this time. The head of Optimus’ spike slid between Jazz’s parted lips without any resistance, only slowing when it nudged against the back of Jazz’s intake.

     Jazz shuddered in delight at the rougher treatment, forcing his throat to relax and take the spike. When they had first started interfacing, Optimus had been exceedingly gentle with Jazz, worried over their size discrepancy. Even when Jazz had revealed several of the modifications to his interfacing equipment allowing him to take spikes as big as Optimus’, his lover had still been so careful. Jazz had found it incredibly sweet, but hadn’t hesitated to show Optimus that Jazz wasn’t fragile in the slightest.

     It had still taken some reassurance, but Optimus had gradually become more confident that he could handle Jazz without breaking him. Once he did, Jazz had found that Optimus was particularly fond of watching his spike sink into Jazz’s valve or mouth, optics alight with awe. Jazz suspected there hadn’t been many mechs Optimus could let go with, and it fired Jazz up when Optimus let loose a little.

     So to feel Optimus pushing into Jazz’s mouth like this was amazing; Jazz’s panels popped, his own spike spearing into the air. The room’s cooler air washed across his soaked valve, making him shiver. He ached, empty and clenching on nothing, but one of his hands was already wrapped around his own fully pressurized length, and the other held the base of Optimus’ spike, stroking it in time with the motions of his head. As of yet, he still hadn’t been able to take the full length of Optimus’ spike, his intake not as modified as his valve, but he was training himself closer every time he performed oral on his lover.

     “That’s so very good, Jazz,” Optimus crooned, the last set of his cooling fans kicking on with a vengeance. “You have such a talented mouth.”

     Optimus’ hips began to rock in counterpoint to Jazz’s motions, heat pouring out from the raised edges of red and blue plating. His field wrapped around Jazz’s, buzzing with desire and need.  

     Jazz redoubled his efforts, sucking harder at the spike head and stroking the base with a firmer grip. Pre-transfluid leaked steadily from the tip of Optimus’ spike, sliding down the back of Jazz’s intake. He moaned at the taste, glossa prodding at the slit in the tip for more. He was rewarded with another spurt of the liquid and a tightening of the hand on the back of his helm.

     Without warning, Optimus stood, Jazz’s mouth sliding off Optimus’ equipment with a protesting cry. Jazz pushed himself up on his knees, reaching upwards desperately. Optimus batted Jazz’s hands away, taking his spike in hand and sliding in into Jazz’s mouth again. He eagerly took it, humming in pleasure as the width of it stretched his lipplates once more.

     “Yes, good, Jazz,” Optimus hissed, optics shutters briefly squeezing shut in pleasure. “Let me…”

     Optimus shuffled forward, clasping the side of Jazz’s helm in his hands and thrusting into his mouth. Their height discrepancy elongated Jazz’s throat and allowed the spike to penetrate deeper than ever before.  Jazz’s optics flickered in bliss as his throat tubing expanded to allow the invader passage. He grasped at Optimus’ thighs, swaying on his knees with each forceful push past his lips. This was the roughest Optimus had ever been with him and Jazz loved it, dropping his jaw as far as possible to allow Optimus to use Jazz’s mouth as he wished.

     Jazz’s interface equipment throbbed in sympathy and one hand dropped back down to encircle his spike, stripping it ruthlessly in time with Optimus’ rapid thrusts. His lover was close, and Jazz’s mouth lubricated at the thought of the transfluid that would soon fill it.

     “That’s it,” Optimus whispered, staring down the length of his body at Jazz. “So beautiful… so _willing_ …

     “I’m close… Jazz, I’m… “ Optimus trailed off with a groan as he suddenly jerked himself backwards, hand rapidly stroking his spike. “Open.”

     Disappointed that he wouldn’t be finishing Optimus off himself, Jazz nevertheless opened his mouth wide, glossa sliding over the edge of his bottom lip. Jazz trembled in place, hips blindly rocking into his grip as his optics fixated upon the twist of Optimus’ faceplates.

     Moments later, Optimus sucked in a large ventilation as his pelvis snapped forward. His hand clamped down on his spike and transfluid spurted from it, landing squarely on Jazz’s face. He felt it spatter against his visor, drips of it landing in his open mouth and down his chin. He swallowed, licking his lips to get every drop, overload looming over him as he gazed adoringly up at Optimus. Jazz’s other hand slid between his thighs, brushing over the aching rim of his valve and tipping him over the edge.

     “Don’t… don’t overload…” Optimus gasped, finally reopening his optics as the last bits of transfluid dribbled from the tip of his spike.

     Horrified, Jazz yanked his hands away from his interfacing equipment, but it was too late. His hips jerked as his spike erupted, thick ropes of transfluid striping the floor between Optimus’ spread feet. He moaned helplessly, unable to stop the pleasure from washing over him, both loving it and hating it at the same time. He had failed! Disobeyed!

     Jazz swayed in placed before toppling over backwards to land in an ungainly heap on his aft. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” he babbled, hands still held up and to the sides.

     An alarmed expression immediately crossed Optimus’ faceplates and he bent at the waist, reaching for Jazz. He paused halfway there and then slowly straightened back up, his hand falling to his hip. As he tilted his head to the side in consideration of Jazz, his cooling fans whined, trying to dispel the excess heat from his frame.

     “You disobeyed me,” Optimus finally stated, expression blanking. Jazz cringed. What would Optimus do to him?

     “I’m sorry,” Jazz repeated, hanging his head in shame.

     “I’ll have to punish you,” Optimus said after a long moment. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down his nasal ridge at Jazz. Jazz flicked his gaze upwards and then rapidly dropped it again, back to the floor. Optimus was so very intimidating from this position, and Jazz’s processor worked madly trying to guess what the other mech would do.

     Optimus dropped his arms and slowly sank back down onto the couch. His gaze remained locked on Jazz’s frame and Jazz held as still as much as the quaking would allow, awaiting his next command.

     “Come here,” Optimus instructed, raising a hand and curling a finger in towards himself. Jazz threw himself forward and onto his knees, quickly shuffling across the few feet of space between them. His hands hovered above Optimus’ legs, uncertain what exactly he was expected to do.

     “Up here,” Optimus said, indicating his thighs. “I want you face down over my lap. You were a… a bad boy… and bad boys get spankings.”

     Spark thumping in a combination of fear and excitement, Jazz pushed himself to his feet. He gingerly laid himself down across Optimus’ thighs, flailing a bit as his feet left the ground. Optimus moved his legs closer together, big hands positioning Jazz so that his bumper overhung the side of Optimus’s thigh. This left the majority of his weight dangling in mid-air and Jazz clutched at Optimus’ shin, gyros spinning and telling him he was about to fall onto his head any moment.

     “Arms crossed at the wrist behind your back. Keep them there,” Optimus commanded, moving one arm to settle heavily across the back of Jazz’s knees. At Jazz’s distressed sound of uncertainty, Optimus tightened his grip. “I have you; I won’t let you fall.”

     Slowly, Jazz did as Optimus had instructed, not liking the feeling of being suspended in such a position. He held onto his own wrists tightly, denta worrying at his lower lipplate. Optimus’ other hand landed on Jazz’s aft and patted it gently.

     “Very good. Just where I want you,” he commented. “Now, you disobeyed me. But I admit that I did not give you timely instructions, so I will lessen your punishment. So let’s say… fifteen. You will count for me.”

     Optimus’ hand lifted from Jazz’s aft, and he tensed.

     “Do you understand?”

     Jazz nodded, but realized Optimus probably couldn’t see it. He rebooted his vocalizer and spoke. “Yes, sir.”

     As he said the honorific, Optimus’ hand landed with a loud smack, and Jazz yelped in surprise, arms automatically grabbing for support.

     He swore to himself as the plating on his aft tingled. The hit had startled him more than anything, but was still strong enough to register on his sensors. The nodes in his interface array were doing more than just tingling though; they were throbbing excitedly, his bared valve nearly overflowing with lubricant.

     Optimus moved above him, leaning over Jazz’s back. A moment later, a hand slid under Jazz’s chest and cupped his throat, easily lifting him horizontal. Jazz turned his helm to look at Optimus, awestruck as always whenever he was reminded of just strong Optimus was.

     Blue eyes sternly regarded Jazz. “Hands behind your back,” Optimus reminded Jazz. “If I have to repeat myself again, I will bind you.”

     Jazz yanked his arms up behind him immediately, and Optimus carefully lowered Jazz back down to his original position.

     “We will start over. Do not forget to count.”

     A light slap made Jazz startle again, although not as violently this time. “One?”

     Optimus caressed the plating beneath his palm, thumb briefly slipping between Jazz’s spread thighs to brush against the posterior rim of his valve. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

     “One,” Jazz replied more firmly, hips trying to hitch up against Optimus’ hand. The touch left his valve almost immediately however, in favor of striking his aft once more. This was a stronger hit, one that made Jazz gasp out a startled oath.

     “Two,” he said after a pregnant pause.

     “Good,” Optimus murmured, two more smacks falling in rapid succession.

     Jazz twitched in his lover’s lap, his plating getting warm beneath Optimus’ hand. “Th…three. Four!”

     Three more hits followed, each landing with unerring accuracy across the middle of his aft. After the seventh strike, Jazz writhed in place, his aft feeling like he had plunked it over the edge of an active volcano and wriggled it in a vent of steam. It _burned_ , oft-ignored sensors pinging him relentlessly with their warnings. His valve was no less insistent, lubricant overflowing the edges and spilling down across Optimus’ lap. It collected beneath his trapped, but repressurized spike, allowing it to jolt smoothly across Optimus' thigh with every smack.

     Optimus’ hand landed again, lower and to the side this time, incorporating the very top of the back of Jazz’s right thigh. The echoes of the hit traveled directly to Jazz’s valve and he clenched down on nothing, moaning out the word ‘eight’. He was unspeakably aroused by this point, each strike igniting the sensors of his interface, the pain mixing with the pleasure until he couldn’t tell which was which.

     Warm fingers brushed over Jazz’s seeping valve and he cried out, desperately trying to press into the touch but unable to do more than wiggle because of his position.

     “Wound up again?” Optimus asked, amusement clear in his voice. “No overloading. Not until I say so, Jazz.”

     He punctuated the statement with another slap, and Jazz yelped as the top of his other thigh was hit. “Nnnine. Y…yesss… sssir.”

     Strikes ten and eleven moved back to the center of Jazz’s aft, and reignited the smoldering coals of his plating. His vocalizer shorted out after the twelfth hit and Optimus waited patiently for Jazz to reboot it, fingers light stroking across Jazz’s aft in spiral patterns that made him twitch.

     “Almost there, Jazz,” Optimus said softly, rubbing a thumb over the side of Jazz’s knee joint. “You’re doing so well; don’t disappoint me now.”

     Jazz shook his head rapidly in denial, whole frame heaving with his gasping ventilations. His optics had long been offlined and his audials were buzzing, leaving him in a hazy state where all he knew was the throbbing of his pelvis and Optimus’ voice.

     “Tw… t… tw,” Jazz stuttered. “Tw…elve…ah!” He cried out as Optimus lifted his restraining arm and gravity took hold, Jazz slipping over the side of Optimus’ thigh several inches before the arm dropped down again. Jazz’s fingers spasmed opened from his grip on his wrists, but he remembered himself at the last moment and clamped back down again.

     Jazz’s cry turned into a shriek as Optimus spanked him again, the new angle exposing his valve even further and taking the majority of the hit. It was nothing more than a heavy-handed pat, really, his sensors told him, but his valve thought otherwise, rippling in response and threatening to tip over into overload without any other stimulation.

     “Sssir, please! Ppplease, let me overload!” Jazz begged, wriggling in earnest to get away from the hand still resting over his valve. He was so close… if Optimus even dipped one finger into his valve, Jazz would explode, he just knew it. And he didn’t have permission yet.

     “What number are we on, Jazz?” Optimus replied sternly.

     Jazz opened his mouth to reply and he whimpered, processor suddenly blanking. Primus! What number was it? How many hits had he taken already?

     “I… I… “ Jazz stammered, trying to buy time.

     “The last one was twelve. What’s next, Jazz?” Optimus asked again, thankfully lifting his hand away and placing it on Jazz’s poor, abused aft instead. The rest of Jazz’s plating ruffled in response.

     Twelve. Twelve. After twelve came what? Dear Primus, why couldn’t he remember? Then…

     “Thirteen!” he blurted out. “Thirteen, sir!”

     Optimus’ hand lifted again and Jazz sucked in a draught of air, going still. Oh Primus, where was he going to be hit next? How hard?

     “Remember: do not overload,” Optimus instructed, and slapped the back of Jazz’s thighs. The upper edge of Optimus’ palm laid a stinging line of fire a fraction of an inch from Jazz’s valve and he wailed, legs stiffening.

     “What’s the count, Jazz?” Optimus asked, raising his voice to be heard over Jazz’s cries.

     “Ffff… fourteen! Pplease… sssir! Please! I need to…!” Jazz shouted.

     A hand soothingly rubbed Jazz’s lower back and he realized he was shaking so badly his armor was rattling. His valve calipers continued to clench and release on nothing, the brush of air against the wet edges nearly enough to set him off by itself. His spike was trapped now, pinched uncomfortably between his own belly and Optimus’ thigh, so all his arousal was feeding directly into his valve. He burned, inside and out and his processor was so muddled he started panicking because there was another number, wasn’t there? Optimus was going to ask him and _he did not know_.

    “Last one,” Optimus murmured and that didn’t help _at all_ , because what was the number of the hit Jazz had just taken? “You have my permission to overload.”

     Optimus’ hand landed with a loud clang, the heaviest strike so far, and directly over the sorest part of his aft. Not even a second after his hand struck Jazz, Optimus slid his burning palm down over the curve of Jazz’s aft and plunged two fingers inside Jazz’s valve.

     Jazz convulsed; there was no better way to say it. Overload grabbed hold of him, raised him high, and then smashed him to the ground, shattering him into a thousand gibbering pieces. Dimly, he heard himself crying out helplessly; he felt himself falling. Or floating. He really couldn’t tell. And what did it matter anyway, when he was being consumed from the inside out by agonizing pleasure?

     An eternity passed. The sharp edge of pleasure began to ebb, leaving him wrapped in a soft, hazy cocoon which was even better. His processor was blank, utterly and peacefully blank, and Jazz couldn’t remember the last time that had happened so he stopped thinking about it and just… was.

     A voice echoed from far away, calling his name. Jazz ignored it at first, but it kept speaking, tugging at him insistently. He allowed it to pull him closer to the boundary of his cocoon and the outside world. Here, the haze was lighter, not as muffling.

     “Jazz? Jazz, can you hear me?”

     The voice was Optimus’, and it was worried.

     Jazz onlined his optics and blinked several times, bringing the floor into focus. He concentrated on his limbs and discovered that he was more firmly entrenched across Optimus’ lap. One of Optimus’ hands was placed firmly in the small of Jazz’s back, anchoring him in place. The other stroked Jazz’s shoulders, lightly jostling him between every few pats.

     “I can hear you, sir,” Jazz said, glossa slurring the words so barely he could barely understand them himself.

     “The scene is over, Jazz. You may call me Optimus again.”

     Jazz struggled to lift his head to look at his lover, but weakly dropped it back after raising it only an inch or so. “K.”

    “Would you like to move to the berth?” Optimus inquired, leaning over Jazz, probably trying to peer into his face.

     Jazz considered the idea. Awareness of his frame was starting to return and the pinching of several cables and wires were making themselves known. Oh. Hey. His arms were still crossed at the middle of his back. Go him.

     “I kept my arms in place,” Jazz offered, absurdly pleased by the fact.

     Optimus slid the hand on Jazz’s shoulder down to caress Jazz’s clenched fingers. “That you did. I’m very proud. You can release yourself now, though. Here – let me help you.” Gently, Optimus began prying Jazz’s fingers off his own plating, one by one. Once that was done, he placed Jazz’s arms by his side, tsking a little at Jazz’s pained hiss.

     “You’ve dented yourself,” Optimus commented mournfully, fingering the impressions in the plating covering Jazz’s wrists.

     “Worth it,” Jazz sighed, the ache from his shoulders and wrists a mere annoyance.

     “I think the berth,” Optimus said, decisively after another moment. “I will pick you up and take you there.”

     Optimus then slid his arms beneath Jazz’s thighs and chest and neatly flipped him onto his back. He leaned over and peered into Jazz’s face. “Is that agreeable?”

     Jazz felt his lips twitch upwards in a goofy smile. “Sure, Opt. Sounds good.”

     Moments later, Optimus hefted him into his arms and strode across the room to kneel on the berth. He gently deposited Jazz atop the surface and then slid onto it himself, resting on his side. Optimus supported his head on one palm and studied Jazz as Optimus’ hand lightly traced obscure glyphs across black and white plating.

     “How do you feel?” Optimus asked.

     Jazz considered the question. He was sore in certain places, particularly his aft and shoulders, but that was nothing compared to the ache of lingering pleasure that suffused his entire body. He’d had a great many good overloads in his time, but this one had certainly ranked up among the best. Jazz suspected the nervous anticipation he had been experiencing before and during the session had ratcheted up his charge even further.

     Better than a good overload though, was the serene lassitude he was currently experiencing. He felt like he could just shut his optic shutters and float away. If this was the subspace the twins had talked about, then Jazz was all for it.

     “Good,” Jazz replied simply. “Thank you.”

     A bit of tension that Jazz hadn’t even realized was there until now, left Optimus’ shoulders. “Thank Primus. You weren’t answering me for a minute or so. I thought I had broken you.”

    “You kinda did,” Jazz admitted, carefully stretching and then wincing at the sharp flare of discomfort in his rear end. He carefully shifted more of his weight to one hip. “But in a really good way. Did you get anything out of it?”

     Optimus raised an orbital ridge in answer. “Did you miss where I overloaded all over your face?” he asked, hand rising to brush against Jazz’s cheek. Out of the corner of his optic, he watched dry flakes of transfluid float down to the berth.

     Jazz shuddered, pushing his face into the touch. “No, I had a front row seat to that one. That was awesome, by the way. And the spanking… ooooh. I’m so glad you included that even if we didn’t talk about it beforehand. Pit, all of it was hot! Even the cheesy one-liners in the beginning.”

     Optimus ducked his head a little, a shy grin gracing his features. “I should have planned my words.”

     Jazz shook his head, nuzzling Optimus’ palm. “It was great, Opt. You don’t even know. I’m floating right now; everything’s quiet up here.” He weakly lifted an arm and pointed at his helm.

    “I am very glad,” Optimus replied, grasping Jazz’s chin and lifting his face so that he could softly press a kiss against Jazz’s lips. “Do you need anything else? I’m afraid I am barely staying online at the moment. This took more out of me than I anticipated.”

     Jazz shook his head. “I know what you mean. Go ahead; I’m not far behind you.”

     Optimus kissed him again. “Then pleasant recharge, Jazz.”

     As soon as Optimus released him, Jazz snuggled close, reveling in the heat of Optimus’ frame. As he listened to Optimus’ systems quiet, Jazz marveled at his luck.

     This was perfect. He was safe and protected, his head was finally quiet, and best of all, Optimus had enjoyed himself as well. It seemed like all their preparation had paid off; Jazz would have to thank the twins later. Profusely.

     But for now… now he was going to enjoy every minute of this.

     He was moments away from shut down when he remembered.

     Jazz sluggishly reached up and patted Optimus’ chest.

     “Hey… fifteen.”

~ End 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> lol - Optimus was all derpy in the beginning because he didn't do his prep work like Sideswipe told him to. But he really got into the spanking because head canon tells me he's fantasized about spanking (in an non-sexual way) all the soldiers under his command at some time or another because they all behave like sparklings half the time.


End file.
